PS 1103 
.B46 B3 
1904 
Copy 1 



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The Battle of 
Love by Char 
lesG.Blanden 

The Blue Sky 
PressChicago 



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Copyright, igo4, by 
The Blue Sky Press 



WIZARD has ta'en 
a fair lady 
And shut her in a 
tower; 
With evil e'e and 
passes three, 
He vows her in 
his power. 



"Now, love me, love me," is his cry, 
" And let the harpour go. 

And thou shalt live a tearless life. 
To gibe at every woe." 




Yet still doth wail that fair lady 
" Oh, sir, pray set me free; 

I cannot love where I do loathe, 
What e'er the penance be. 

My love he is a menestrel, 
My love shall set me free; 

My love will harp this castle down 
With music made to me." 

The wizard laughed at fair Helen, 
And loud he laughed and long. 

That walls of stone be overthrown 
By nothing but a song. 



Oh, long he laughed and loud he 
laughed: 

" Now this I do for thee; 
If that thy harpour harp so well, 

Forsooth, I '11 set thee free. 

The gates shall swing but for this thing: 

He fifty songs shall make 
And sing them all beneath the wall, 

For thee and thy sweet sake. 

Full fifty songs, from morn to night. 
The price that he must pay; 

Which if he do, this castle, too, 
Shall pence his roundelay." 



Oh, sadly sighed the fair lady, 

All in the lonely tower; 
Oh, sadly smiled the young Helen, 

Within the wizard's power. 

" Now smile not so," the wizard said; 

" If that thy harpour fail, 
The price shall be thy hand to me. 

The lord of this good vale.*' 

The lady paled, the lady moaned, 

The lady dropta tear. 
" Now hither bring my menestrel. 

And thither take my fear." 



The lady's heart it beat full high, 
The lady*s cheeks grew flush, 

As when at morn, to shame the thorn, 
A rose regales the bush. 

The wizard waved his wand in air 

And spake a mystic word, 
And where he sate, by his far gate. 

The menestrel has heard. 

That menestrel, as in a dream. 
Takes up his harp and fares; 

By dale and hill, by mead and rill. 
He makes him magic airs. 



As in a dream, he comes unto 

The castle in the vale. 
" Oh, lady fair at thy lattice, 

I prithee why so pale ? " 

" Oh, menestrel," the lady says, 
" This is my prison place, 

And 1 must wed the old wizard 
TJnto my great disgrace. 

And I must wed the grim wizard. 
Unless the price ye pay — 

Full fifty songs from morn to night 
Of this my sorrow-day." 



•* This will I pay, thou fair lady, 
Or, singing for thee, die." 

The wizard heard the battle word. 
And he wox fierce thereby. 

The menestrel has ta*en his harp, 

And lo ! his soul is flame; 
He strikes a chord on his harp-strings 

And calls on Beauty's name. 

The wizard laughs, the wizard frowns. 
And hisses three times three; 

He may not kill the sweet music 
Of love's young minstrelsy. 



Fast come the lays, — Apollo plays,- 
His cheeks with roses gay; 

His eyes are bright and have a light 
That haunts that wizard grey. 

The lady leans from her casement, 
Her heart is liege to Grief; 

Her eyes are wet, her lips, I ween, 
A-tremble like a leaf. 

" Have ye no fear, O lady dear; 

Oh lady fair be fain; 
My harp shall win a full freedom 

And give thee home again. 



My harp it is a harp most good, 
That through its twanging strings 

Feels rivers flow, above, below. 
From some immortal springs. 

And think ye that my hand shall tire, 

And think ye they do fail 
Who draw their strength from sweet 
music 

And wear the lover's mail ? " 

The wizard laughs in his white beard, 
His laugh is strange to hear; 

His eyes are like to burning coals 
In winter of the year. 



And can a harpour harp him so 
A wizard*s power be nought ? 

In his thin hand he waves his wand 
And dooms the rising thought. 

In his long hand he waves his wand, 
His spirits forth to bring, 

But never one doth cross the sun 
To still the twanging string. 

The wizard wonders they come not, 
And 'rates his demons black 

They be afraid to lend him aid, 
And he so lean and lack. 



The wizard leans upon his wand, 
f The wizard dreams a dream; 
The wizard hears from his childhood 
A laughing mountain stream. 

The wizard sees a merry boy 

Beside the stream at play. 
(The wizard's beard like to a cloud 

Of summer floats away.) 

His long white beard, his miser years, 

Away, away they float; 
Within his heart he hears again 

A sweet and sunny note. 



Into his eyes, his desert eyes, 

Leaps up a childish tear, 
And o'er his wan and wrinkled cheek 

It hurries on in fear. 

The wizard stands and stares ahead, 

His heart is like to burst; 
His lips are dry as Afric sands. 

His soul is all athirst. 

And he speaks low: "This sweet music 
Doth dig me from the tomb; 

I feel arise my happy youth — 
I see my roses bloom. 



I see to bloom my red roses; 

I see my roses die; 
The winter's cold doth them enfold- 

And very old am I." 

And still he sung, that menestrel; 

The wizard well he knew. 
Song after song from his good harp 

And from his soul he drew. 

While swifter far than honey bees 
The moments they went by; 

The golden sun — how fast he falls 
Adown the western sky. 



'' Oh, hurry, hurry, brave harpour; 

Oh, sing and sing again. 
The sun he will not tarry him 

To heal a lady's pain." 

" Now cheer thee, cheer thee, fair 
Helen; 

Full fifty songs be thine; 
1 feel them all in my heart's blood 

A-tingle like to wine. 

And I will sing the songs fifty, 
So sure as buds do blow — 

Full fifty ballads breathe within 
The rose of song I know." 



The lady smiled and thanked him, 
She thanked him and more: 

She was the dew, she was the light 
Unto his red heart's core. 

The wizard sighs, he is undone; 

He is a feeble wight: 
The blossoms of a true, true love 

Are hyssop in hissight. 

Again, again he circles round 
And waves his ebon wand; 

But never one of his demons 
Obeys him his command. 



He falls him on the sere grasses, 

Like faded leaf he falls; 
And still he lies, within his eyes 

His hopes own funerals. 

The menestrel he stays never. 

The menestrel he sings 
As he were bird with heaven's word 

And heir to heavenly things. 

The menestrel for love he sung, 
The menestrel he played 

Until the sun the goal had won 
That is our evenshade. 



And now is done the Jong battle, 
Well foughten hand to hand — 

The menestrel with sweet music, 
The wizard with his wand. 

The wizard pale and cold he lies. 

The menestrel is gay; 
The lady flees the lonely tower. 

With none to speak her nay. 

Ay, she has gone with her lover 

Unto his House of Song; 
The House of Song that is more proud 

Than castles — and more strong. 



PAGEANT SERIES 

Of this edition of "THE BATTLE OF 
LOVE there have been printed three 
hundred copies on Van Gelder handmade 
paper ^ and fifteen copies on Japan vel- 
lum; this being number ^1, 

The Blue Sky Press, Chicago, Illinois 



APR 3 1905 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



016 115 742 9 # 



